


Deliriously

by RonnaWren (Wolf_of_Lilacs)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Depression, Experimental, F/M, Horror, M/M, Nightmares, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 00:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10708131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/RonnaWren
Summary: Falling still...Trump, always Trump, with crowds of indefinable form about him...Falling Faster...





	Deliriously

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for pretentious dream sequences. Have fun.
> 
> If it's in italics, it's happening in Reince's head.

A new house, especially one in a neighborhood with as much historic significance as this one, is meant to symbolize an improvement of one's fortunes. But as he signs the papers (Reinhold R. Priebus, his full name) after their last tour of the place, he wonders if his sense of success is a lie. Why the hell should he wonder, though?

"Oh, stop that," Sally tells him for the millionth time. "What could possibly go wrong? Well, other than whatever the fuck might happen to a chief of staff to an unstable President. But seriously, calm down."

"How can you be sure that I won't go down in an epic conflagration?" he whispers, kissing her.

"I'm not," she replies, "but one of us needs to express some semblance of optimism here."

_The house is haunted. Ghosts of long-dead politicians whisper in the shadows. You will fall. Everything will burn. There is no other way._

_"Shut up!" he cries, but their breathy warnings continue unabated, their ice-cold presences passing close enough to freeze the blood solid in his veins._

_Flee. Save yourself, they hiss, whirling about him._

_He tries. He tries to leave this tainted haven, but something holds him fast. Trump's—or Bannon's, or Ryan's—arms are wrapped in a vice grip about his chest, and he cannot break free. He can barely breathe..._

_He turns to see their face, and can perceive nothing more than a featureless void where a head should be._

*

The inauguration goes without a hitch, though less than well attended. Sean claims differently, of course, and his view of events is comforting, despite its obvious—and repeatedly noted—mendacity.

"Sean, I love you," Reince quips, "but what the fuck are you doing?"

"My job. What does it look like?"

The Packers do not make the Super Bowl. It must be an omen. Everything is not coming up Priebus.

It might be coming up Bannon, though.

"I've really pissed off liberal snowflakes and globalists with my beautiful travel ban," Bannon crows, strutting into Reince's office the day after the first travel ban is signed.

"Clearly," Reince says, resigned. "I don't really care for such attention."

"Your loss, Priebus," Bannon replies. "Pointless protests make me come, and the President likes what I'm doing. What have you managed since we got in?"

*

_He stands in an airport in a country he doesn't know, that seems to go on forever. "Why can't I go home?" he asks, too tired to feel proper outrage at the customs official’s persistence._

_"Covert anti-Trump sentiments," the official replies._

_"But you had no probable cause to search my phone, or to read my mind—"_

_"Sorry," the official interrupts, far from sympathetic. "Bring that up with those guys over there." He points to Trump and Bannon, making out loudly and with much exuberant groping in the middle of the concourse. Trump spots Reince over Bannon's shoulder and waves him toward them._

_"I never trusted you, Priebus," Trump snarls into his face, cuffing his left ear as he speaks. "Enjoy your stay in... Where the hell are we, Steve?"_

_"Mexico, Mr. President."_

_"Tremendous! Enjoy your stay in Mexico, Reince."_

_"But I have things I need to do!"_

_They laugh and leave him, alone, stranded._

*

Multiple courts block full implementation of the travel ban.

"Tell me again how much you've achieved," Reince crows, standing in front of Bannon's desk.

"Whatever, Priebus. I'm on the National Security Council. Are you?"

"Um, yeah, and legitimately. My appointment didn’t cause, you know, general outrage."

Bannon rolls his eyes, blushing faintly.

*

"Hey Reince!" Trump greets him, smiling widely.

"Good afternoon, Mr. President."

"So, I need a huge favor, that only you can do for me."

"All right, sir. What do you need?"

"I want all the fake news stories about Russia's involvement in the election to stop. They're making us look like shit. Go to the FBI people and see what they can do."

"I don't disagree with you, sir, but that isn't quite legal—"

Trump silences him by bringing his hand emphatically down upon his desk. "I don't give a damn, okay? Just take care of it!"

"I'll do what I can," Reince mumbles, turning toward the door.

"Wait!" He glances back, surprised.

"I know you will," Trump says, placing his hands upon Reince's shoulders and drawing him close. "You helped get me elected. I trust you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Donald, Reince, like you did when we fucked during the campaign."

"Yes, Donald," he sighs, as he and the President exchange sweet, unhurried kisses.

Comey and McCabe–his impeccably dressed and hardly less imposing deputy–greet Reince cordially, with nods and handshakes. Reince clears his throat, trying to relax. "Is there a way you can rebut some of the Russia stories, especially that Times article?" he asks plaintively.

Comey and his deputy are unmoved. "No," they say without hesitation. "We won't be doing anything like that."

"But what am I supposed to do?"

"Give us one good reason why we should jeopardize our investigation for you."

They make the President look bad— No, they draw people's attention away from the administration's accomplishments. Yes. He voices this last thought.

"How people see the administration is the purview of the administration alone, now isn't it?" Comey says. "It has nothing to do with us. Good day, sir."

Well, fuck.

"I've broken the law!" Reince whines, running his fingers anxiously through what's left of his hair. "I've broken the law..."

"Globalist sons-of-bitches are the law. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," Bannon growls. Reince can't tell if it's meant to be reassuring.

"Can I have my office back?" he grumbles, glaring across at Bannon, who leans back in a chair, feet on Reince's desk.

"But we're the best of friends now, Priebus," Bannon replies. "Didn't you read that interview we gave?"

Reince shudders and—fuck propriety—kisses Bannon roughly. "Don't remind me. I absolutely fucking hate you."

"Never change, Priebus," Bannon says, biting Reince's bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "You're the biggest cuck I've ever met."

Pulling away, Reince peevishly wipes away the blood with the back of his hand. "A cuck, am I? Why have you been defending me against the author of the Breitbart article questioning my job security, then?"

Bannon merely smirks.

*

_He's sitting through his and Bannon's joint appearance at CPAC once more. Bannon is close—far too close, his hand resting heavily on Reince's knee. Reince pushes him away, but he does not budge. "We're friends, Reince," Bannon whispers, his lips brushing Reince's ear._

_"Everyone loves everyone around here!" Sean chirps, popping up out of the floor in front of them like a jack-in-the-box. "Leaks don't happen. People aren't stabbing each other in the back... It's an absolute lovefest!"_

_"Lovefest is my word," Reince protests weakly._

_"Too bad, Reince," Sean enthuses. "Nothing is ours. Everything is at the pleasure of the President."_

*

"I heard better legal minds had to be called in to fix your travel ban," Reince gloats, pulling up a chair in front of Bannon's desk and placing his feet upon it as Bannon did to him  
weeks ago.

"Fuck them," Bannon says, not meeting Reince's eyes. "The ban was still my idea. Anyway, this one will go through, so it's my goddamn success."

"Sure, sure," Reince laughs. "I look forward to it. I mean, how much did you guys really change? Seems to me the courts took issue with the sentiment, rather than just the shoddy implementation."

"Go to hell," Bannon snaps.

"Can't. I'm already there, because I'm talking to you."

Bannon's eyes flash, and he rises abruptly. "I'll give you hell, you piece of shit." He initiates a bruising kiss, the nails of one hand digging painfully into Reince's back, his other hand keeping Reince's head still as he assaults his mouth.

"Oh, yes, Steve. Yes," Reince groans.

*

"Today's the day, Mr. President," Reince says, his excitement so thick his voice is choked to a near whisper.

"And this is going to be the best possible health care plan, right?" Trump confirms.

"Yes indeed. It keeps some popular Obamacare provisions, and puts an end to this nonsense of mandatory coverage. Oh, and there are tax breaks."

"That's fantastic, Reince. I'm so glad I picked you. I knew you wouldn't let my voters down." Trump throws an arm casually over Reince's shoulders, pulling him snugly to his side. Reince sighs in ecstasy. He still has this, at least.

"Happy to be of service, Donald," he replies earnestly, planting a brief kiss on the corner of Trump's mouth.

"Oh, that's nothing, Reince," Trump protests, and returns the kiss eagerly, his hand ghosting toward Reince's straining erection.

_Bannon prowls in agitation like a large cat. Or... For heaven's sake, he is a large cat. He stalks toward Reince, teeth bared, a low growl rumbling in his chest._

_"I didn't sabotage you," Reince says, slowly backing away. "Please don't attack me."_

_With a final twitch of his tail, Bannon pounces, carrying Reince to the floor in a flurry of claws and tearing clothes._

*

"Reince, you need to take a look at this," Katie says as she strides into his office, an iPad in hand.

"We don't have the votes, do we?" he sighs, his worst fears—of splintered coalitions, of failure—coming to the forefront of his mind.

"See for yourself."

Grimacing, he swipes through the list of Congressmen, tapping his fingers in annoyance each time he sees a definite Republican no.

"You should talk to the Speaker again," Katie suggests.

"I've talked to him a hundred times!" Reince explodes, slamming the iPad down. "It hasn't done any good. The moderates and the Freedom Caucus won't be satisfied, no matter what he tries." He leans heavily back in his chair, his head falling against his heaving breast. "Fuck, this bill won't pass, and I'm gonna be fired."

"You and everyone else who couldn't hash out an agreement," Katie muses darkly.

"Bannon will rub this in my face, then blame me for Obamacare passing in the first place."

"Sure, Reince," Katie sighs.

"I'm sure you've heard by now, but the health care bill's been pulled," Reince tells Trump, dreading the President's response.

"Too bad. Guess we're moving on to other things," Trump replies, expressionless.

"I did what I could," Reince says, looking at Trump in desperation. 

"Of course you did." Trump gives nothing away, his voice as bland as his face. "See you, Reince."

Reince shakes Trump's hand, and leaves the Oval Office, head bowed.

*

_"Try this health care bill on for size, bitch!" Trump spits, carving open Reince's chest with a dully gleaming blade and pulling out his oozing, still-beating heart._

_"I did the best I could," he whimpers. "Please!"_

_"Clearly your best wasn't good enough. Steve was right about you, you spineless, hopeless, useless—" And Trump throws the heart in Reince's face._

_A sob forms somewhere in Reince's stomach, clawing its way through his chest and out his throat in a desperate, blood-soaked scream._

_"That's it, Reince. Scream all you want. Nothing can save you." Trump laughs harshly, and leaves him in an ever-widening pool of his own blood. Reince's household apparitions drift about the edges of his narrowing visual field. Nothing can save you, nothing can save you, they echo._

_Bannon wriggles his fingers from an impossible distance, eyes gleaming in triumph. Reince continues to scream. He can do nothing else—_

"Oh my god, Reince. Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

"Sally," he whispers hoarsely into the dark, his hand splayed over his chest, where his pulse blessedly, powerfully pounds. He isn't dead...

"Who else?" she replies sourly. "I'm moving to the guest room. I haven't got a full night's sleep in weeks because of you."

"Don't leave me!"

She strokes his damp brow with a soft hand. "Just for a couple nights," she promises. "Then I'll be back."

"How would I survive without you?"

"God only knows," she says, and closes the bedroom door firmly behind her.

*

"Phenomenal, Sean Spicer's Kiss of Death," a Politico headline reads. Reince can barely keep himself awake as he makes his way through the rest of the uncomfortably cynical article. The words begin to morph strange shapes before his eyes.

Kiss of Death— 

_Bannon's face, but Trump's mouth, moving seductively against his. The taste of ash, or is it smoke..._

_Falling..._

Phenomenal—

_The Packers make the Super Bowl after all! They win, and it is one hell of a game. He and Paul clink their beer mugs together, with cheers and high-fives._

Phenomena—

_Fires, burning in his peripheral vision, but what is it off which they feed? He strains to see, but the brightness of the flames throws everything else into impenetrable shadow._

_Falling still..._

Phenomenon—

_Trump, always Trump, with crowds of indefinable form about him... (Mammalian, reptilian, avian—no, that isn't right…)_

_Falling faster..._

Pheno(type?)—

_Twisting, writhing features of a face he cannot recall. Once male, once female, once something in between..._

Fen. 

_At this thought, his feet hit something solid, but commence sinking almost immediately. Panicking, he tries to lift them from the mud, but he can't... Fetid swamp air wafts about him; will-o'-the-wisps that move of their own accord rush at him, surrounding him. Will they kill him? Can illusions kill?_

_Sinking..._

_"Reince!" Katie's voice, loud and insistent. He raises his head, attempting to catch a glimpse of her around his ephemeral assailants. She stands, outlined in moonlight at the edge of the fen, reaching for him. "Reince, wake up!"_

He comes to, panting, covered in sweat, with Katie shaking his shoulder. "You fell asleep," she tells him. "Looked like you were having a nightmare."

He opens his mouth to respond, but his tongue feels fuzzy and no words come out.

"Hang on," she says, patting his hand reassuringly. "I'll get you some water."

She returns with a full glass, which he gulps down within seconds. "I'm losing my mind," he tells her. "I don't know what's real anymore."

"Does it matter?" she asks. "Reality is a nightmare. Sometimes I wish my nightmares were reality."

Not a day has passed, and Katie is gone.

_Katie is gone, sinking in the middle of the fetid fen. She cries out for help. Reince cannot reach her..._

He wakes, or is he awake? groping blindly in the darkness for Katie's phantom hand. No, Katie! Come back!

Someone's hand firmly grasps his. Katie!

"No, Reince. I'm not Katie." She sounds as if she's said it many times before.

"Katie's gone. I'm doomed," he whimpers.

"As you keep saying, love."

"They'll come for Bannon, then it's me!"

Sally leans her head against his chest. "Do what you do best, and keep your head down."

"That isn't part of my job. I'm supposed to stick my head out and wait for someone to walk by with an axe."

"Then maybe you should be in a different job," Sally snaps, exasperated. "Let them come for you. Will it make a difference either way?"

*

"So, Trump's moving on from you," Bannon tells him, standing just inside his office door.

"I'd have to say the same for you."

"That upstart son-in-law of his comes in here and acts as if he's President, and suddenly my policy ideas aren't priorities anymore," Bannon complains.

"You think I haven't noticed?" Reince asks. "What do you want from me?"

"Hell if I know," Bannon says, stumping closer to Reince's desk. "Not like you could do much, anyway, not after that beautiful health care fuck-up."

Reince shakes his head. "Yeah, well, it's probably only a matter of days before we're both fired."

"Let's make the best of the time we've got, then," Bannon suggests.

Thus there are more—many more—ash-flavored kisses, with teeth and tongues and blood and moans.

He wakes sometimes, his mouth tasting chalky, and has no idea if most of these kisses are real or occur only in his hallucinatory dreams.

*

"Sort this out!" Trump snaps at Reince. "You can at least manage to get them to agree on something, can't you?" He looks supremely doubtful as he turns his back in disgust and stalks away.

Bannon and Kushner glare daggers at each other, having been in the midst of another heated argument over Middle Eastern intervention (Kushner for it, Bannon passionately against). Reince sits between them, vainly trying to start conversation. Kushner acts as if he is invisible, while Bannon simply frowns.

"I don't have time for this," Kushner says after the loaded silence drags on for multiple eternities. "Just stay out of my way, all right? I expect that's the best thing you guys can do for your jobs." He exits the room, taking the same route the President took.

"That went well, and we're screwed," Reince declares.

"I don't even care anymore," Bannon replies. "Trump is turning out to be a complete disappointment."

*

_Trump and Kushner stand hand in hand, Trump drinking in Kushner's words like nectar from the gods. Reince watches them discreetly, crouched behind a chair._

_"Your dreams are as bad as mine," a voice says close to his ear, causing him to jump violently._

_"What the fuck, Steve! This is my dream!" he snaps, heart pounding._

_"Not anymore it's not. Move over so I can see." Reince obliges, and they sit huddled close together, watching their political futures slip further and further away._


End file.
